


Ploratus

by madasthesea



Series: Fure [16]
Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: Gen comforts Irene, which is something she isn't used to.





	

When Irene awoke, she realized immediately that Gen had come to her bed in the middle of the night. Most nights that this happened, when she heard the slight scrape of the window opening, she would feel a thrill of nerves and excitement race up her spine. Tonight, she wanted nothing more than for him to leave. 

He was still asleep, not yet woken by her attention. She slipped out from between the covers as quietly as she could. She paused often, listening for a hitch in his breathing. As soon as she was free from the confining heat, she went to the balcony, opening and closing the doors as silently as possible. 

The moment she was alone, the tears came. She felt childish and silly, hiding herself away so that she could cry. But she didn’t want her new husband to see her weakness. She was powerful in his eyes, and she did not want his respect to wane. 

“Irene?” She started, already cursing the thief in her mind for seeing even that small reaction. She didn’t turn around, but she didn’t need to. He was already next to her, silent as ever.

He glanced up and saw her tears, then immediately looked forward again.

“Go back to bed,” she ordered. 

“No,” he said simply. Then he hopped up on the balcony railing. Irene’s stomach twisted in fear. He stepped between her hands, turned on the ball of his foot, then sat in front of her. The railing lent him enough height that he had to look down at her.

“You’re going to fall to your death,” she remarked coolly, briefly (very briefly) considering pushing him just to see if he could catch himself. 

“At least your face would be the last thing I see,” he answered, grinning coyly. 

She scoffed and looked away, but he caught her chin with calloused fingers. 

“Irene,” he said softly, “what’s wrong?” 

“I don’t want to tell you,” she said, petulant and embarrassed. Another tear slipped over Gen’s fingers and she tried to pull away. His fingers tightened, almost painful. She tried to protest, but stopped when he leaned down and carefully kissed away any remnant of tears from her cheeks.  

“That’s ok,” he whispered, his breath fanning over her face, making her shiver.

She looked up, unused to the sensation, and nodded jerkily, a thank you that she hoped he understood. He smiled again, then climbed to his feet, still balanced easily on the railing. He offered her his hand, which she stared at apprehensively.

“Have you ever seen the view from your roof?” he asked. “It’s spectacular.” 

She bit her lip, took his hand, and quickly forgot what was wrong in the first place.


End file.
